infinite versions of the truth
by kingslayers
Summary: He is a boy built of errant dreams and sharp angles, of glass smiles and something impossible to catch in his silver eyes. He looks like an angel who got lost and forgot how to fly, and she's suddenly very aware of the jackhammering of her heartbeat. / Scorpius Malfoy may be the one mystery she still wants to keep solving. —rosescorpius


**written for:** the houses competition

 **house:** slytherin

 **category:** short

 **prompts:** scorpius malfoy [char]

 **word count:** 2611

 **warnings** : swearing

 **notes** : it's third person limited, so sometimes the sentence structures reflect thought patterns rather than full/proper sentences, heads up.

 **disclaimer** : disclaimed.

* * *

"Do you trust me?" he asks quietly.

He is a boy built of errant dreams and sharp angles, of glass smiles and something impossible to catch in his silver eyes. He looks like an angel who got lost and forgot how to fly, and she's suddenly very aware of the jackhammering of her heartbeat.

x

Rose is thirteen the first time Scorpius Malfoy speaks to her outside of brief, impersonal classroom interactions.

They collide outside of the Library—well, sort of.

It's more like she, focussing more on the essay she's reading as she walks instead of actually _walking_ , crashes into him outside of the Library.

"Oof!" She glances up into eyes that are thankfully not angry. In fact, they seem to be a little amused, at least beneath the surprise. "Sorry," she apologises, stepping back automatically to give him back the personal space she had just accidentally invaded.

"Lost in a gripping piece of academic scholarship?" he asks, amused.

(It's something she's always noticed about Scorpius Malfoy. He doesn't talk like any other person their age that she knows. It's not a bad thing.

Actually, she kind of likes it.)

She snorts. "I wish. Nah, I'm reading over Con's Potions essay for him," she explains. "Cassie's looking over my Charms one, and Con's reading her Herbology one." She knows she's over-explaining, but she can't help it. It's something about the surprise of being addressed by him—it's never happened before, so she doesn't know how to react normally. She's a little nervous, in fact.

"Gryffindor study group?" Scorpius asks.

Rose flashes him a brief, half-smile. "I'm flattered you think we're capable of such a thing," she says drily. "Not really—like, not formally. We're just…" she gestures vaguely in the air, "friends helping each other."

"Sounds nice," he says sincerely, maybe even a touch wistfully, and Rose is suddenly very aware of the weight of his eyes on the essay she's holding.

"Yeah," she says softly, "it is." She swallows, thoughts racing in her head, building up her courage, and then— "It's not, like, exclusive," she blurts out, before immediately blushing. "I mean," she tries again, "it's _not_ a study group, much less a Gryffindor-exclusive one. It's just—we're just helping each other out. As friends. Classmates." She can feel herself blushing harder as the moments go on, but she's determined to stick it out and clarify herself. "You could do it too, if you want," she mumbles, fidgeting as she does so.

Scorpius stares at her. She can't really blame him. This is literally the first time they've spoken outside of classroom situations that required it, and here she is, offering for him to be part of the essay exchange she does with her best friends when they need a second opinion?

It feels like hours, but it's probably only moments until Scorpius offers her the slightest of smiles. "Thanks," he says. "I really appreciate it."

She can feel her cheeks heating up again, but manages to keep her mouth shut, simply smiling and nodding this time. She stays there for a moment before she decides that awkwardly standing in the corridor is not the best way to spend their afternoon.

"I'm gonna…" she trails off, gesturing towards the library, and he nods.

She's a few metres away when she hears him call, "Rose?"

She stops more out of surprise than anything, and is still looking startled when he jogs up to her.

"You called me Rose," she says, still surprised.

He frowns. "Yeah?" he says, clearly unsure why that should be surprising. "Shouldn't I have?"

"Oh, no," Rose reassures him quickly. "It's good—most people just call me Weasley if they don't talk to me every day," she explains, waving her hand as if it doesn't bother her—as if she's not kind of touched that he didn't. "Pretty sure it's because there're so many people in my family that they're not sure which one I am."

Scorpius frowns again, though there's something a little amused tugging at his lips. "Well, I know who you are," he says. "I'd wager most of them do too."

"Maybe they're just embracing the esteemed British cultural heritage of referring to people exclusively by surname," she suggests wryly.

"Maybe," he says, laughing a little, before sobering up. "Hey, anyway—I just wanted to say thank you."

"About the essay thing?" Rose asks, confused. "You did."

"No," he says, shaking his head, before pausing. "Well, yeah, that too, but mostly—my cousin Jessamine's the first Nott or Greengrass to be sorted into Hufflepuff, and she's been having a bit of a rough time of it, but she told me how nice your family's been to her," he says. "And I just wanted to say thanks."

Rose shrugs. "It's no problem," she says lightly. "Hugo's got Al to look after him in Slytherin—figured she should have some people in her corner too," she says. "I think it was Hugo's idea, anyway—we were all just happy to help."

"Well, thanks to all of you," Scorpius says quietly, smiling once at her before turning around, back towards Ravenclaw Tower.

She stays in the corridor for a few minutes after he leaves, thinking about the encounter. Scorpius Malfoy is hard to pin down, but it's exciting: she's always enjoyed the unexpected.

x

"Dennis Cartwright's looking for you," Scorpius says as he sits down at the study table in the library.

She growls. "Dennis Cartwright," she says fiercely, almost tearing her parchment with how hard she's pressing down on her quill, "can fuck off."

Rose can see Scorpius frowning out of the corner of her eye, then looking over at Cassie in askance. She shifts her head in time to see Cassie shaking her head mutely.

"What'd he do?" Scorpius asks.

"Dennis Cartwright is an elitist ass," Rose says, still furious. "He thinks that—just because he's a _prefect_ —for _Gryffindor_ —the _best_ house—" she snarls, finally using her quill so violently that her parchment rips.

Cassie wordlessly taps the parchment, mending it.

"—He thinks he is somehow _better_ —as if he can trade on the currency of his parents—well, he can't!" Rose says, breathing heavily as she glares ferociously down at her parchment. "Thanks," she mutters to Cassie, belatedly thanking her for mending the parchment.

"He said something about my family, didn't he," Scorpius says flatly. It's phrased like a question, but it isn't one.

Rose slowly meets his eyes, sagging against her chair. "Yeah," she says.

Scorpius nods, then looks down at his textbook.

Cassie exchanges a glance with Rose.

"Scor—" Cassie begins, before being interrupted by the boy himself.

"How many steps are there in the brewing process for Felix Felicis?" he asks, louder than usual, and something brittle in his voice.

Cassie stills. Rose watches Scorpius.

"238," Cassie says after a moment.

He nods at her. "Thanks," he says, his tone clipped, ducking his head down—ostensibly to read his textbook, but Rose knows it's so they can't see his expression.

He's quiet all week.

x

They're fifteen years old and lying on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, watching the stars move in the silence of the night, when she breaks it with her question.

"Can you tell me something true?"

Scorpius glances at her. She meets his grey eyes with her brown ones.

"Depends," he says after a moment.

"On what?" she asks curiously.

His smile is crooked, but tinged with seriousness at the same time. "What version of the truth you want to hear."

She huffs, but his expression doesn't change. She thinks about it for a moment.

"Tell me something that's true right now," she says, looking back up at the stars.

He's silent for a long moment.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be right now," he says quietly.

Her smile is blinding.

x

"I don't think your cousin likes me very much," Scorpius says in an undertone.

Rose glances over at her mass of family members. "You're going to have to be more specific," she says ruefully.

He almost grins, but not quite. These days, the almost grins happen a lot more than the almost frowns, so she takes it as encouragement.

"Dominique," he clarifies.

Rose looks more carefully at the group of Weasleys, and spots Dominique almost immediately. She's tall, blonde and absolutely intimidating. Part of that is how gorgeous she is, but a lot of it is her general attitude.

"Dominique doesn't really like anyone," she tells him. "Louis and Vic can get her to laugh and joke around, but she doesn't warm to most people. Sometimes not even us, and we all grew up together."

Scorpius shifts. "If you say so," he says doubtfully.

It isn't until Louis comes over to talk to Scorpius that Rose gets a chance to talk to Dominique.

"Hey," Rose greets, coming to stand beside her statuesque cousin. Rose is the tallest of the female cousins other than the Delacour-Weasleys, but even her height is several inches shorter than Dominique.

Dominique nods, flashing a small smile at her younger cousin that's gone in a blink. "What's your read on Malfoy?" she asks, unflinchingly direct as always.

"Scorpius," Rose corrects immediately. Dominique raises an eyebrow that would have made Rose blush once upon a time, but she is sixteen now, not thirteen, and instead holds Dominique's gaze steadily.

Rose can't be certain, but for a second, she could have sworn Dominique looked marginally impressed.

"All right, Scorpius," she says brusquely. "What's your read?"

If Dominique is known for her utterly unflinching nature and inability to be cowed, Rose is known for reading people. It's just a little knack she has—it's not just knowing someone, but _seeing_ them. Sometimes that means seeing right through them.

"He's my friend," Rose says slowly—not because it's untrue, but because she's thinking intently about Dominique's question. Truthfully, at this stage, she knows Scorpius better than most people, if not everyone, but she still can't pin him down, not in his entirety. It's kind of thrilling for her, in fact—there aren't many people she knows that she's still discovering, or at least, that she's still interested in discovering more of. "He's clever, and dry, and sometimes oddly sincere…" She trails off, noticing Dominique observing her thoughtfully.

"Is he a good person?" Dominique asks abruptly.

"He tries to be," Rose says.

"Does he succeed?" Dominique probes.

Rose shrugs. "As much as I do."

"Is he honest?" Dominique asks.

"Depends what version of the truth you want to hear," Rose says softly.

Given Dominique's naturally direct nature, she expects this answer to irritate her; instead, it softens her.

"All right," she says finally, nodding at Rose, before inclining her head towards Scorpius. "You should go rescue him before Uncle George decides he's a perfect test subject for the new products," Dominique suggests, hint of a smirk playing at her lips.

Rose follows her eye line to find Uncle George observing Scorpius and Louis shrewdly, and nods.

"Yeah, I'm going to… get on that," she says, waving distractedly at Dominique as she heads back to Louis and Scorpius.

(Later on that night, she and Scorpius are sitting on the porch swing.

"Louis thinks truth is objective," Scorpius says conversationally.

Rose twists to look up at him. "Oh?" she asks, amused. "And what do you think about that?"

He shifts. "It might be," he shrugs. "Doesn't change the fact that our representation of it is subjective. We always present the truth in a way we want to hear, or want to be most true. We all have favourite versions of the truth."

They're quiet for a moment. Then: "How many kinds of truths do you think there are?" Rose asks curiously. "Or possible versions of it, whatever."

"Infinite," Scorpius says, considering. "You can make anything true, if you try hard enough." He nudges her, grinning teasingly. "You're my favourite truth," he quips.

She huffs, shoving him lightly. "That doesn't even make sense," she informs him.

"No? Because I kind of feel like you're something that came true," he says, and it's teasing, sure, but there's also a touch of sincerity to it that she doesn't know what to do with. So this time, she doesn't argue—she just sits there, leaning into him in the night.)

x

She finds him sitting on the window ledge of the Astronomy Tower.

"Hey," she says softly.

He doesn't turn, but something in his shoulders shifts. "Hey," he responds quietly.

She steps forward until she's right beside the ledge, studying it for a moment before carefully boosting herself onto it, keeping her legs drawn up beside her.

"Nobody believes it," she says. It feels like a lie, but it's not, not really—just a version of the truth. A version where only the people that matter count.

Scorpius looks at her steadily. "Some do," he counters evenly.

"Not anybody who knows you," Rose says.

"Rose, _I_ don't even know me," he says, his tone caught between desperate and bitterly amused.

"I do," Rose says. "Enough, at least."

Scorpius looks at her, but he doesn't argue. "One person," he says softly.

"Okay, way more people than just me know that it's bullshit," Rose says. "Everyone knows _Snitch!_ is a gossip rag, Scor. Even people who don't know you are pretty sure you're not trying to restart the Death Eaters."

Scorpius flinches, as if even hearing the name is enough to wound. Maybe it is. It's been flung at him his whole life, after all. Perhaps some cuts never heal entirely.

He looks out at the Forbidden Forest. Rose looks at him. For as long as they've been friends, she's watched him live under the weight of expectations and the burdens of a history that doesn't belong to him. All children of war grow up bearing its weight, she knows; her family is no exception. For as long as she can remember, people have been measuring them against their parents, trying to see if they're good enough or if they're disappointments… but even if they don't live up to the expectations, the worst assumption is that they're not as good as war heroes. It'd always been different for Scorpius. He didn't have to measure up against his father; he had to constantly prove that he _wasn't_ him—that he wasn't as actively bad as a Death Eater.

It twists something inside her chest.

"Sometimes, I just want to get away from it all," Scorpius says quietly.

"Yeah," Rose says softly.

Then he glances left, and she notices something in the shadows she hadn't seen before: a broomstick.

Her eyes widen, looking at him unblinkingly.

He swallows, a question in his eyes.

There's a lot racing through her mind—is this a rebellious trip, is this actually _leaving_ , is it just a breather, an escape—but it all stops when she sees his hands. They're shaking. She captures them in her own, looking at him intently.

"Rose," he says, biting his lip. "Do you trust me?" he asks quietly.

Her eyes scan him, soaking him up, as if she can somehow keep him in her memory forever if she does so.

He is a boy built of errant dreams and sharp angles, of glass smiles and something impossible to catch in his silver eyes. He looks like an angel who got lost and forgot how to fly, and she's suddenly very aware of the jackhammering of her heartbeat.

"Always," she says firmly, squeezing his hands tight.

He grins. It's rare and bright and sharp as glass, but it's quirky and self-deprecating and she can see a thousand colours in his smile.

"Then let's go," he says.

* * *

 **a/n.** please don't favourite without reviewing.


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